


A Better Shape

by Verecunda



Series: A Better Shape [1]
Category: Dickensian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Romance, Shameless Shippiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. It takes work to mend a broken heart, but Amelia Havisham is nothing if not determined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Better Shape

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've just finished rewatching _Dickensian_ , and I decided to give Amelia a happy ending. Because she deserved better.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fanfic of Dickens fanfic, so I own nothing, but I hope Charlie D. will forgive me for pinching some of his words for my own nefarious purposes.

The boards over the window warped and groaned, thin rays of light slicing through where the wood began to split. At the sight of it, Amelia’s throat closed over, and she clasped her hands together until her nails bit into the skin. One of the workmen paused.

“D’you want us to stop, ma’am?”

“No,” she said at once, before her resolve crumbled. “Please, go on.”

More groaning and splintering, setting her teeth on edge; then, all at once, the first of the boards fell completely away.

White light blinded her, driving a spike of pain through her head, and for a long time she simply stood there, frozen in place, her eyes closed tight against it. But, presently, she gathered her courage, let out the breath she had been holding, and opened her eyes.

She stood in a shaft of sharp wintry sunlight. It poured in through the window and filled her dressing-room, sweeping the gloom aside and throwing everything into sharp relief, lighting the motes of dust that danced thickly in the air.

The workmen looked to her, somewhat apprehensive. “Will we carry on with the rest, ma’am?”

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Fear, yes, but also a strange exhilaration. The worst moment was over. She surprised even herself with the calm of her voice as she replied, “Yes, thank you.”

One by one, the shutters and boards over every window came down and, slowly, Satis House began to wake up. Sunlight filled its dusty rooms, brutally revealing the neglect and decay that had gathered during its long sleep. When the workmen had been paid and had taken their leave, Amelia wandered from room to room like one in a dream. She had lived in this house all her life, and brooded amongst all this ruin until it had almost seemed that this was how it had always been. But looking at it now, it was a strange place, unreal, like something out of a story. Sleeping Beauty’s castle, maybe, forgotten by time. A house of ghosts.

How had she let this happen?

She looked into the dining room, at the long table still set for the wedding feast which had never taken place, the fine tableware muffled by dust. The fruit and flowers sat withered where they had been left. And in the middle of it all towered the wreck of her bride-cake, smothered in cobwebs. The mice and spiders had given it their best go, but still it remained: a reminder of her foolishness. That would have to go.

Three years. Three years to the day since she had sat in this room, in that chair, reading the fatal letter. Three years to the day since her heart had broken. She fancied she could still hear the echoes of her screams, trapped in that frozen room. She shivered.

“Mary,” she called, the echo dulled by the dust.

The maid appeared at her side. She was the only one left: the rest had either deserted or been dismissed in the aftermath of her wedding day. “Miss?”

“I wish to change. Look out a clean dress for me.” Suddenly, she smiled. “This gown is such a heavy thing to trail about all day.”

A hot bath and one of her old dresses - somewhat moth-eaten, but familiar - made her feel some way to being human again, and as she pinned up her hair, she looked critically at herself in the dressing-table mirror. The reflection that looked back was thinner, paler, with heavy shadows beneath her eyes, but it was undeniably her. Little by little, she was reclaiming herself.

Mary bustled in, the discarded wedding gown heaped in her arms. “Pardon me, miss, but what am I to do with this?”

Amelia looked at it: the white turning to yellow, the rich satins and laces worn thin and limp. “Oh, I think it’s past all use now. Light a fire in my study and we can burn it there.”

That made Mary smile, and she dipped a curtsey. “I’ll do it at once, miss.”

“Oh, and Mary?” The maid turned, and Amelia handed her a note. “Have this delivered to Mr. Jaggers. I wish to see him at his earliest convenience.”

-

Mr. Jaggers’ earliest convenience was that same afternoon. Amelia was in her study, making up lists of all that needed to be done to put the house in order. At his entrance, however, she laid down her pen and rose to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jaggers.”

She had taken him utterly by surprise, she saw that at once. He did not show it openly, but it was there: a slight lifting of his eyebrows, maybe, or a check in his manner.

“Miss Havisham. I trust I find you well?”

She smiled. “I am very well, thank you, sir. I believe my heart is healed at long last.”

“I’m glad.” He said it in an inward way, as though to himself, and she had a feeling of being closely observed.

She was glad to see him. He was one of the only people she had left from before, one of the only parts of her former life she hadn’t shut herself off from. Part of that, admittedly, was that he had obdurately refused to be dismissed after the debacle of her wedding. She had tried, furious at him for going behind her back, just one of the many men in her life who had deceived her. But, as he’d argued then, she’d needed him to help her dissolve the brewery. And so, grudgingly, she had consented to keep him on.

“What was it you wished to discuss, Miss Havisham?” His surprise had passed, and he was all business once again.

“I hardly know where to start!” she confessed. “I can hardly shut myself away from the world, yet expect it to stop turning on my account. But I suppose you might start by letting me know how my own affairs stand.”

“Well,” said he, sitting down at her invitation, “your own financial situation you know. Your Pocket relations have made a few acquisitive gestures from time to time, but I’ve stamped on them. You are quite safe on that front.”

“They tried to say I was mad, I suppose.”

He gave the barest of pauses before replying, “They did.”

“Well,” she said softly, looking down at her clasped hands, “I’m not so sure I wasn’t.”

When she looked up at him again, he was unnaturally still. Slowly, as though choosing his words with the utmost care, he said, “Miss Havisham, if I might ask, what are your plans now?”

“Truthfully, Jaggers, I wish I knew. I only made up my mind to return to the world this morning.” She glanced towards the fireplace, where the ruin of her wedding dress still made a handsome blaze, along with that stupid, stupid shoe and the letter. 

Jaggers followed her glance. “It’s certainly a start.”

“I suppose I might think about getting back into some sort of business. The brewery is no more, of course, but perhaps I might start my own.” She clasped her hands tighter and threw out, bitterly, “That is, if I can find anyone who will want to do business with the madwoman in the wedding dress.”

He nodded slowly, considering. “It will be hard, of course, and it will take time, but I see no reason why it can’t be done.” With a rather dry look he added, “I know enough of the City to know that people are surprisingly willing to overlook any amount of eccentricity, if there is sufficient capital involved. And your capital is considerable; your fortune is still intact. You needn’t throw yourself on the dubious mercy of Scrooge and Marley.”

“Is it still Scrooge and Marley, then?” she asked, surprised. 

His look became even drier. “It’s what it still says on the sign, at any rate.”

It won a small laugh from her. She knew of Mr. Scrooge’s reputation for miserliness, but even that seemed excessive. Mr. Marley had died about the same time as her father. She had heard about it, but hadn’t given it much thought at the time. She had been too preoccupied with other things: with grief, with learning her unexpected new trade, with her quarrel with Arthur. With Meriwether Compeyson.

She drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, despite the warmth of the room. She doubted the wisdom of asking about him, but although she had recovered from the loss of the man she had believed him to be, his presence still seemed to linger on, like an evil ghost. She must exorcise him once and for all.

“Do you know what happened to - to Mr. Compeyson?”

At the man’s name, an expression of mild distaste crossed Jaggers’ face. “No. He disappeared as soon as you turned him out of the house. I do not doubt he’s still out there somewhere. But you needn’t worry. I don’t think he would show his face here again.”

“No, I didn’t think so. Even if he did, I should call for the constables at once.”

How strange that she should feel absolutely nothing now for a man who had once consumed every fibre of her being. The Amelia Havisham of three years ago seemed almost a different person.

She hesitated to ask her next question, fearing the answer, but she knew she must. “And - Arthur?”

At this, Jaggers actually sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I have made several inquiries, but I’ve been unable to trace him. Even your relations have heard nothing of him.” He paused. “I am sorry.”

She gave a single stiff nod, her chest tight as she absorbed this. It wasn’t wholly unexpected, but it was harder than she had anticipated. Even after she had recovered from her heartbreak over Compeyson, Arthur’s betrayal had been the hardest to bear. Now, all she could see was his stricken face when she drove him from the house. Her little brother. No matter what had passed between them, if she could only see him again, she would forgive him. And hope he could forgive her.

“What do you think, Mr. Jaggers?”

He bit his forefinger, something she had never seen him do before. A severe gesture, but when he spoke, his voice was not unkind. “I would advise you against raising your hopes, Miss Havisham, but not to abandon them altogether. Your brother may not wish to be found, but it may be that once word of your recovery gets out, it will encourage him to come forward.”

She tried to take heart from the fact that if he had thought there was no hope, he would have said so. It was unlike Jaggers to offer idle comfort. But it was hard to reflect on what she had destroyed. The memory of all her wild fury that day returned to taunt her.

“I fear I must have been truly mad,” she murmured.

“Grief can take people in strange ways,” said Jaggers.

She hadn’t expected that. “You think it was grief?”

“So soon after your father’s passing, and to add to that the revelation of so many betrayals by so many people close to you - I do not exclude myself - and so suddenly -” He broke off, bit his finger again, then concluded, “Yes, I think grief had a lot to do with it.”

His words certainly made sense. Or was it that she wanted them to make sense, to assure herself that it hadn’t all been sheer foolishness? 

The rest of his visit was spent in thankfully more matter-of-fact conversation about financial matters. Although she had dissolved the brewery, she still had tenants and tradesmen to deal with. She had mostly left them to Jaggers, but she could begin by taking them in hand again. There was much to do, but she was determined she would do it, and it was reassuring now to have Jaggers’ familiar presence with her as she sounded her way through the financial intricacies.

“Thank you, Mr. Jaggers,” she said, when they had done all there was to be done today. “I can’t tell you what a help you’ve been to me today.”

“You’re welcome.” He gathered up a sheaf of papers to take back to the office, and she stood to show him to the door. Before he left, however, he stopped, and turned to fix her with an earnest look.

“There is no hurry, Miss Havisham. Don’t feel that you must do everything at once. You have plenty of time.”

She almost laughed. “I appreciate your advice, Mr. Jaggers, but believe me, I have no intention of overexerting myself.”

“No,” he allowed, “but I know you.”

-

Servants were hired, the decayed relics of the wedding day were cleared away, and the rumour spread that Satis House had opened its windows, at least, if not its doors. And, inevitably, the Pockets lost no time to come and visit. Having failed to lay their hands on her fortune by other means, they had apparently settled on becoming her most solicitous courtiers. Amelia had been expecting this, and so she was ready for them. She met them in the drawing room, and couldn’t quite suppress a rather base amusement when she saw their evident consternation at her recovery.

Cousin Sarah was the first to rally. “Dear, _dear_ Miss Havisham!” she cried, crossing the room with her arms open, only to come up short when Amelia made no move to return the embrace. “How well you look!”

“Indeed, Sarah?” said Amelia mildly. “I rather thought I looked quite thin and pale lately.”

Sarah Pocket looked disconcerted, and the others glanced at her with ill-disguised glee.

“Quite!” put in Cousin Camilla, as her husband nodded along. “That you should be expected to be quite yourself after such an ordeal - the idea! My dear Miss Havisham, you cannot conceive how I have suffered in thinking of you! Such fits of fainting as you never imagined - up several times in the night!”

“I am sorry you should suffer in thinking of me, cousin,” replied Amelia. “I know I would be happier if you did not think of me at all.”

But Camilla was not to be confounded as easily as Sarah. “Several times in the night! Raymond will tell you what I have suffered! And then there is Matthew, who hasn’t the correct sense of family duty to show his face here. Just thinking of it makes me feel positively ill!”

The mention of Matthew sent a jolt through her, and she looked down, fighting back a wave of shame. Her dear cousin, her North Star. He had tried to help her, he had _loved_ her, and she had treated him so cruelly. Somehow, she must find a way to make amends with him.

“Matthew will come when the time is right,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t doubt him.”

This aroused a storm of indignation on the part of Camilla and Sarah, who fought to be the most vociferous in their protestations that Matthew was a poor relation, in every sense of the word, and that his devotion to their beloved cousin was not to be compared to theirs. Then, suddenly, Camilla broke off with a little scream - “oh!”

Jaggers stood just inside the door. Amelia had been expecting him, and had left instructions that he should be let up without the need for announcement. He met her eyes over the heads of her visitors - one raised eyebrow communicating quite eloquently that his feelings on this display were in perfect agreement with her own - then turned his gaze on the Pockets.

The effect on them was remarkable. He had told her that he had “stamped down” on their efforts to seize her money, and now they appeared to stand in considerable dread of him. Their protestations of familial devotion died quite away, their denunciation of Matthew came to an abrupt end; they shuffled from one foot to the other, and their eyes flickered to every point of the room except where he stood.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jaggers,” Amelia greeted him pleasantly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Havisham,” he replied, taking his gaze from the Pockets, dismissing them in an instant.

“Cousins,” said Amelia, “I am sorry to have to send you away so soon, but my lawyer and I have urgent matters to discuss.”

“Oh, but-!” Sarah began to protest, but trailed away, caught between familial devotion and her unwillingness to be within five miles of Jaggers. “But when should we visit again, Miss Havisham?”

“When I send for you, of course, Sarah.”

“And… when will that be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. When I have nothing better to do, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” 

With that, she saw them out of the room, and Mary escorted them downstairs. She listened to them go, protesting all the way, then she closed the door.

“There! Now that’s over with. Truly, I had no idea I had such devoted relations.”

“They've certainly changed their tune since I last saw them,” he remarked.

“Well, so much for the Pockets. What have you brought me today, Jaggers?”

They sat down to work, but though Amelia set to with a good will, her mind refused to settle on the papers in front of her. Her encounter with the Pockets had rattled her more than she’d realised. Not them - she had dealt with them easily enough - but the mention of Matthew had taken her unawares. Their words echoed all the ones she had flung at him, and it disturbed her deeply.

“Is something the matter, Miss Havisham?” Jaggers’ voice broke in upon her thoughts.

There was no point in pretending to him, so she didn’t try. “I’m sorry, I was thinking about Matthew.”

“Have you been in communication with him?”

“No. Truthfully, I haven’t made up my mind to that.”

“I doubt,” he said, “that Mr. Pocket is the kind of man to hold a grudge.”

The thought of Matthew having a grudging bone in his body made her smile, despite herself. “No. Dear Matthew, he’s certainly not that.”

Somehow that made it worse.

“It’s my fault,” she said.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw him pause. “Miss Havisham?”

“I've made such a mess of things. I drove them all away - Arthur, Matthew, Honoria - I let that man break me, and I tore down everything my father worked his whole life to build. What must he think of me now?”

Too late, she realised her vision was swimming with tears; the light of the fire scattered and danced before her. She let out a breath, and realised it was a sob. She had not cried since that day, and she had thought she never would again. But now, before she could stop them, all her old hurts seemed to redouble upon her, and the tears came with a vengeance.

“I beg your pardon, Jaggers, I-” But she got no further, and buried her face in her hands.

He said nothing, but a moment later he handed her a silk handkerchief - an unusually large silk handkerchief - which she took gratefully. She fought to regain her composure, but the tears came too fast. Whenever she thought they had exhausted themselves, another wave of them broke over her until she was shaking from them. She cried openly: for her family, for all she had unthinkingly destroyed, and, yes, for herself.

And throughout it all, Jaggers never uttered a word, but simply sat by her side. He made no overt move to comfort her, but she was aware every moment of his presence beside her, of his eyes on her, of the familiar scent of his soap on his handkerchief. He said nothing, but he remained with her - patient, imperturbable - as he always had. Somehow it was enough.

At long last, when she had wept herself into submission, and both her head and heart were aching, she drew a deep breath and resolutely passed her hand over her eyes. Now that the tears had abated, she felt thoroughly irritated with herself. She was supposed to be regaining control, not sobbing like a child in front of her lawyer.

“Please excuse me, Mr. Jaggers, I’m being foolish. You should go.”

“With respect, Miss Havisham, I am reluctant to leave you alone in such a state.”

She bristled. “I don’t need your pity, sir!”

“Just as well, as I don’t offer it.”

Startled, she looked up at him. He was very grave, but his eyes showed only compassion. Not pity. He had seen her grieving before. He had dealt with her in her seclusion without batting an eyelid. The thought that he should be in any way moved by this latest display of emotion on her part now seemed absurd, and she half-laughed.

“I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.” She shook her head. “You must have the patience of a saint, Jaggers.”

The grave expression on his face relaxed a little. “Nothing of the kind. You forget, I know well enough how obstinate you are. I'm used to you.”

Now she really did laugh. “That’s true.”

There was no reason for him to stay. She was more composed now, but it was clear they would get no more done tonight. But she didn’t want him to go. She was beset by memories, and the last thing she wanted now was to be left alone in this empty house with all its ghosts.

“Mr. Jaggers.” She said it quickly, before she thought better of it. “It’s getting late. Would you - that is - you sometimes used to dine with my father; you would be welcome to stay for supper tonight.”

He did not reply at once, and a flush rose in her face. He was going to refuse. Oh God, what a fool he must think her.

“Are you sure?”

She dared breathe out. “Yes. I confess, I could do with the company.”

He searched her face for a long moment, until at last he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Then, if you wish me to stay, Miss Havisham, I will.”

-

Her moment of weakness had been embarrassing, but it also seemed to have broken a dam that needed breaking. For now things began to happen in earnest.

She was still not quite equal to going out. She often looked out into the street from the upstairs windows, watching the commotion of carriages and crowds, listening to the clamour of the whole ruthlessly busy world going about its business, and shrank from it. But she walked in the garden most days, taking the air and talking to the new gardeners as they cleared the jungle that had sprung up during its neglect. She oversaw repairs to the roof and the upper rooms where the damp had got in. Day by day, Satis House was restored to something like its former glory, and her reflection in the dressing-table mirror acquired a little more colour in her cheeks.

There was business to attend to, as well. Consulting with Jaggers, she got in touch with some potential business associates. Most of her old shareholders had deserted for good, but she found a handful who were willing to give her another chance. She even found some entirely new contacts. It was daunting work, and it was all carried out by letter, but it was progress.

Jaggers was a constant presence, of course. He came to the house most days now, and it quickly became a habit for him to stay to dinner afterwards. She was more glad of his companionship than she could say, but part of her could not dismiss the idea that he only humoured her - one more service to render his eccentric client - and she resolved to test the issue.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important tonight, Jaggers.” 

He shook his head, folding up his napkin. “You were my last appointment today.”

“But had you no other plans?” She had no notion of what plans he might otherwise have, but - the thought came upon her suddenly - she really did not know who he was outside his office. She placed so much confidence in him, yet in so many ways he remained a stranger to her. 

Thankfully, he seemed to have no conception of her thoughts. “If I was not here, I dare say I would still be at the office. Or in the Three Cripples.” He gave her a faintly conspiratorial look over his glass of port. “I have given in to the general good opinion of Mrs. Cratchit’s mutton pies.”

She smiled at that, but it made her wonder. “Have you no home to go to?”

“I have a house, of course, but I only use three rooms of it.”

The prospect seemed increasingly dismal. “Light work for your housekeeper, at least.” Surely he must have _someone_ to go home to…

“I have no housekeeper.”

“But surely, when you entertain-” At his lifted eyebrow, she broke off. “Really, Jaggers, I begin to despair of you!”

“It’s not as grim as you suppose. I will occasionally invite one of the clerks to dinner.”

“But have you no friends outside your office whom you might spend some time with? No club? No - no lady-friend?”

She couldn’t say what had put that idea in her head, but it was there now, and she was honestly curious. 

He looked down into his glass. “No lady-friend.”

He spoke drily, as they had been all along, but now there seemed to be something, some indefinable change about him. Something sad. Amelia searched his face, but she already knew she would find nothing there. She had thought she was growing more familiar with Jaggers, but every time she thought she had gained a window into his true self, he closed over the shutters. He had been so kind to her of late, yet he seemed to have no life beyond his profession. As if he had elected to separate himself from the rest of humanity. But why should he want to do that?

This was the man who knew so many of her secrets. Hers, and doubtless so many others’. How many of his own did he keep? What did he do with them? Did he simply shut himself away with them in his solitary house?

He looked up, caught her eye, and she felt a strange, guilty start, as though she had been caught spying on something she hadn’t been meant to see. When she looked again, that strange sadness was gone, and he was Mr. Jaggers, her stern, self-possessed lawyer, once again. She wanted to say something, but he got there before her:

“I have been in communication with your cousin Mr. Pocket. He wishes to know if you are agreeable to a meeting.”

-

There was no going back now. She still did not know what she would say to Matthew, but more than ever, she wanted to see him. A reunion at Satis House seemed too raw still, so it was arranged that they would meet on the more neutral ground of Jaggers’ office. If there was any incentive to go back out into the world, this was it.

For now, she still had time to prepare herself. She sent a note to Mantalini’s, requesting a dressmaking appointment at home. To her delight, Martha Bagnet came the very next day.

“Martha! I’m so glad you came.”

Martha, sweet-tempered as ever, smiled. “Happy to come, miss. I hope you’re… you’re feeling better?”

She was hesitant, obviously uncertain whether she was treading on forbidden ground, and Amelia determined to do away with the matter at once.

“I’m feeling much better, Martha, thank you. Unfortunately, shutting myself away in this house all this time has left my wardrobe sadly outmoded, and it simply won’t do for me to appear in society again in dresses over three years old. Only imagine what people would say!”

Martha laughed, and Amelia was glad to see that she looked genuinely relieved. “Don’t you worry, Miss Havisham, I’ll make sure you’re put right. I’ve brought our spring catalogue, so you can see what you fancy.” She brought it out of her bag, adding significantly, “The fashionable papers are all very took with Lady Dedlock’s style just now.”

Lady Dedlock. How strange to hear Honoria referred to in such a way.

“She’s much admired, I take it?”

“Oh, yes. Madame Mantalini is proud to tell _all_ our customers that her Ladyship first got her fashionable taste in her shop.”

Amelia smiled at that. The thought that Madame Mantalini could teach Honoria anything about elegance!

She looked through the fashion plates, and sure enough, every graceful red-haired figure brought Honoria inevitably to mind. Amelia missed her dreadfully. What she wouldn’t give to have her best friend with her again. How did she do down in Lincolnshire? Was she happy with Sir Leicester? Did she still think of Captain Hawdon?

“Have you been in touch with her Ladyship at all, Miss Havisham?”

She shook her head. “No, Martha. But maybe it’s time I did.”

-

She mentioned her intention to Jaggers that night. They were playing cards, a singularly unlikely habit they had developed over the last few weeks. She was at rather a loss to say how it had come about, though she had a vague memory of suggesting it in a spirit of drollery, intending to tease, and of him confounding her by accepting.

“I was thinking about writing to Honoria.”

He nodded, looking at his cards. “I believe she would welcome it.”

He said it in such an absolute manner that Amelia glanced at him, but he continued to study his hand. He had a way of cross-examining his cards, as if he thought them guilty of all manner of sins, that she found forbidding, yet oddly amusing.

After a second or two, he added, “Tulkinghorn has the management of the Dedlock affairs, but I dare say I could prevail upon him to carry a letter from you next time he goes down to Chesney Wold.”

She had always known that a coolness existed between Jaggers and his senior partner, but something in his tone now communicated, quite frankly, a full distaste for Mr. Tulkinghorn.

“I wonder that you stay in partnership with that man.”

He looked wry. “You are a businesswoman, Miss Havisham. You know that a professional partnership does not necessitate a personal liking.” He paused, moved a card from one end of his hand to the other. “But I won’t deny that I have considered it.”

“Surely you have enough influence to set up on your own. I know my father thought you would do well by yourself.”

She had the obscure sense he was pleased by this. “I owe your father a great deal, Miss Havisham. He took me on, young as I was then, and it was my connection with him that was key in increasing my own influence so quickly. I have enough standing now that I probably could do it. But Tulkinghorn is… he is a hard man to break with.”

“How so?”

He bit his finger, his whole manner becoming very dark. “It’s hard to explain. All lawyers deal in confidences, it’s the nature of the business. I wish to know no more than I must, but for Tulkinghorn it is - different. He has a way of casting a shadow over a person.” 

She had never dealt with Mr. Tulkinghorn herself, but she remembered the door bearing his name, always closed, the office beyond dark and silent, all his clients’ secrets hoarded up within. Not like Jaggers, who dealt with his clients then washed them off afterwards.

An unwelcome memory returned, of the shame and humiliation she had felt when Meriwether Compeyson was exposed, the feeling that all her secrets had been reckoned up, turned against her, tainted. The thought came to her - uninvited, startling - that she need fear no such thing with Jaggers.

She felt suddenly that she was teetering on the brink of something, and grasped desperately for anything to say to pull herself back from it.

“Forgive me if I have been too forward, Jaggers. It’s just that you have done so much for me. The very least I can do is encourage you now. I do know what it is to feel that you cannot step out from the shadows.”

He was looking at her quite intently now, his eyes very dark in the candlelight. She couldn’t quite read the expression there, but it seemed to touch something deep inside herself, a part of her she thought she had done away with. A close air of shared confidences seemed to involve them both, spoken and unspoken, but safe.

Suddenly, he smiled. “Thank you, Miss Havisham.”

She could hardly describe the feeling that went through her. “Then you will think about it?”

“I will consider what must be done.”

They finished their game in silence, and he prepared to take his leave. Amelia walked him out to the hall, watching in silence as he put on his greatcoat and took his hat and cane from the maid. Everything was as normal, but something below the surface had changed, and her throat felt strangely dry when she finally bade him, “Goodnight, Mr. Jaggers.” She saw him to the door, and watched him go until he disappeared into the night, until even the echo of his step in the quiet street had faded away.

-

A trick of the candelight, that was all it was. That was what she tried to tell herself, anyway, as she lay awake into the night, turning the evening’s events over and over in her mind. Something had changed between them - or was it only in her imagination? Was he even a fraction as affected by their conversation as she was? For all her notions of intimacy, what had he really confided in her? That he disliked his partner? It was hardly a secret.

And yet, for a man as close as Jaggers, it seemed a great deal.

Compeyson had once confided in her, too. Or at least, pretended to. She had no doubt now that most of those secrets, which she had cherished so close to her own heart, had been lies, designed to win her sympathy. And try as she might, it was impossible to escape the suspicion that Jaggers was lying to her now.

But what reason had he to lie to her? She had no business with Tulkinghorn; Jaggers had the full management of her affairs. Surely he could not be after her money - she paid him well enough already. What more could he want from her?

How could one conversation throw her into such confusion? Not just his words: she recalled with alarming clarity every subtle change in his expression, the way the candlelight reflected in his eyes, the precise movements of his fingers on his cards. A new, vivid awareness of _him_. And it terrified her.

“It’s nothing,” she said into the darkness. “It’s nothing at all.”

She and Jaggers had become unexpectedly closer over the last few months, a natural consequence of their singular circumstances, and it was only to be expected that she should start to see him in a new light. It was no more than that. It was _Jaggers_ , for heaven’s sake!

It was too soon - far too soon - for her to fall in love again.

-

The day of her meeting with Matthew came, her first day of venturing out into the world again. She spent most of the morning in a state of anxious excitement, but she marshalled her courage, donned one of her new dresses, and hesitated just a moment on the threshold before she walked out from Satis House at last.

As she made her way down the high street, she was aware of people turning their heads to watch her as she passed by. Her heart was pounding, but she lifted her head and kept up a brisk step. Once, she caught the beady eyes of Mrs. Gamp and Miss Biggetywitch by the tea-cart, and she bit down a private smile as they became suddenly very interested in the dregs at the bottom of their cups.

There were more encouraging greetings, too. As she passed Mantalini’s she saw Martha wave to her through the front window. A little further on, Mr. Pickwick even crossed the street to meet her, beaming through his round spectacles. “My dear Miss Havisham! How delightful to see you out and about once again!” Little things, but they went a long way to conquering her nerves as she reached the offices of Jaggers and Tulkinghorn.

A clerk showed her into Jaggers’ office. The first thing she saw was him standing by the fireplace, his hands folded behind his back. He looked up as she came in, and she saw his look of deep satisfaction. “Miss Havisham. Good morning.”

Then there was Matthew, rising from one of the chairs in the corner, and all of Amelia’s attention was taken up by him. “Matthew!”

“Cousin.” He came forward, hesitated just a moment, then enveloped her in a tight hug. And just like that, all her worries were dispelled. She clung back, overcome with happiness, and realised there were tears standing in her eyes.

A long, long moment, then she pulled back, holding him at arm’s length to study him closely. A little more careworn, perhaps, but still the same good-natured, honest face. The same plain clothes. The same Matthew.

“Matthew, I can’t begin to say-”

But he shook his head, smiling. “There’s no need, Amelia. It’s all done with now.”

“But the things I said…”

“All in the past,” he assured her, looking rather on the verge of tears himself, and took her hands. “All that matters now is that you’re here, and we can start again. A fresh start for all of us.”

She laughed, her heart full to bursting, and agreed, “A fresh start.”

A movement out the corner of her eye brought her attention back to Jaggers. “You and your cousin have much to discuss, Miss Havisham. I will take my leave.”

“I have an idea,” said Matthew, looking between them. “Amelia, why don’t we go to Garraway’s? We can talk there and not impose upon Mr. Jaggers.”

An afternoon in Garraway’s was rather more than she had been expecting for her first day out, but she found herself looking forward to it. “Good idea. We have so much catching up to do, I fear poor Mr. Jaggers would never get his office back today!” 

She said this with an arch look at the man himself. He was studying his boots with every appearance of interest, but she caught a decided flicker at the corner of his mouth.

Garraway’s was relatively empty at this time of day, so she and Matthew settled themselves at an out-of-the-way table where they could talk without being overheard. And they did indeed have much to talk about. About Arthur, their regrets, and if there was anything to be done to find him. About her new business plans. About Matthew’s ambitions, and his recent engagement to a young lady named Belinda.

“I am happy for you, cousin,” said Amelia, touching his hand. “If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask. Father would insist upon it, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Amelia. But I think we’ll get on pretty well.” He looked attentively at her. “And you? Are you happy now?”

She thought about it. “I think I am. I’m ready to look forward. Though it is hard, not knowing what’s become of Arthur - I think about him every day. The house does seem so empty with only me. I have been thinking, when everything is more settled, that I would like to adopt a child. A little girl, maybe. I thought I might ask Jaggers if he happened to know of any child who needed a good home.”

“You have a very staunch ally in Mr. Jaggers, cousin.”

“I’m sure he would say he was merely rendering a service,” she said wryly.

He looked amused. “And do you believe that?”

She thought of everything that had passed between her and Jaggers lately, and of the look he had given her today, his evident pleasure at her recovery. “No, I don’t.”

-

There was no denying it now. She was in love with Mr. Jaggers. The more she was in his company, the more certain of it she was. She knew his every look, every mannerism. The exact expression in a single lift of his eyebrow, the depth of feeling that lay beneath his determined self-possession. She had shared confidences with him, known such unexpected kindness from him. It was as if she was only seeing him now, properly, for the first time, after all these years.

Where had it come from? She was at a loss to say. It was nothing like the bolt from the blue that had brought Compeyson into her life. It had simply come upon her without her noticing, hiding itself away in her heart before she realised it was there.

She had thought she had done with love. A poor dream, blind devotion and self-humiliation, defiance of all sense. Even Honoria had dismissed Captain Hawdon as a “few months of madness” in the end. She couldn’t help but remember how utterly she had lost herself in Compeyson, and the thought of doing so again scared her.

But, whispered another part of her, she was wiser now. Not the same naïve girl to be taken in by a mysterious stranger spouting passionate declarations. Of course, the fact that she should fall in love with her lawyer, a man who seemed determined to wash off the rest of humanity as soon as he dealt with it, seemed equally absurd. But now, at least, her heart appeared to have consulted with her head, and the two of them were in agreement. 

She had shut herself away from the sun for so long, but she had found the courage to return. Why shouldn’t the same be true for her heart?

-

Her return to the world had given her a burst of new confidence, and she threw herself into her new enterprise. It took some wrangling, but at last she and Jaggers succeeded in arranging a meeting with some prospective business partners.

It went off better than she had dared hope. As soon as she was in the office, it was as if the last three years had never happened, and she was still the head of the Havisham brewery. She answered their questions, countered their objections, soothed their doubts, and by and by, brought them round to her side. She felt the old energy returning, the sense of purpose she had loved so much before, and she made an absolute success of it. So much so, that when it was done and they were taking their leave, Mr. Norton almost fell over himself to offer her his congratulations.

As soon as they were left alone, Amelia turned to Jaggers, flushed with her triumph. He was already washing his hands of them, but he glanced up and smiled at her.

“Allow me to offer my congratulations, Miss Havisham.”

“I never thought for a moment it could go so well.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “I truly feel myself again. And,” she added earnestly, “I owe it to you, Jaggers.”

He shook his head, as though disavowing any involvement in the business at all, drying his hands on the jack-towel by his washstand. “All you’ve achieved today has been through your own endeavours. I was the mere agent.”

“You will not throw me off as easily as that, sir,” she exclaimed. And, without thinking, she laid her hand on his arm. “You have been so much more than a mere agent, Jaggers, these last months. I hope I might count you as my friend.”

At this, he smiled openly. “Of course.”

He had once looked at her in just such a way, in this very room, a long time ago. His usual reserve had disappeared, replaced by an expression of such wholehearted pride, admiration, affection… and love. 

And understanding dawned on her in an instant.

Before she could think twice about what she was doing, she was moving her hand down his arm, over his wrist, then to his hand, her fingers threading through his. She leaned in, and felt his sigh as his lips parted against hers, that one feather-light touch sending a thrill through her whole body.

Then he was snatching back his hand, turning his head away. “No.”

She blinked, looking up at him in consternation. “Jaggers?”

“I will not do this to you, Miss Havisham.”

Her heart was racing, and she felt sick with mortification. Had she really mistaken so badly? “But I thought…”

“I will not take advantage of you.”

So that was it. “Jaggers, I do appreciate your concern for me, but I am not the same silly girl I was before. I know my own mind.” She reached out, let the tips of her fingers brush the edge of his jaw, and looked earnestly into his face. “I do believe I love you, Mr. Jaggers. And I put the question to you: do you love me?”

“I do.” His eyes were so dark, so warm, the longing in them so unguarded she wondered how she could ever have missed it. She leaned in again, but he forestalled her, taking her hand from his face, and lowering it slowly back to her side. “And that is why I do this.”

Her breath was coming sharply now, old hurts threatening to rise up and take hold. She had been so afraid of her feelings, but now she had found love again, a love she trusted, all she wanted to do was seize hold of it and never let it go. But he was turning her away.

“Amelia.” 

He had never before addressed her by her Christian name. Now the sound of it on his lips made her look up to meet his eyes once more.

“I am not rejecting you. I am not abandoning you. But you were deeply hurt, you have lived a long time in seclusion, and I am the only man with whom you’ve had any regular contact. It’s only natural that you might - overestimate your attachment to me.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he pressed on: “I merely urge you not to commit yourself until you are ready.”

In that moment, all she wanted to do was take him by the collar and shake him, the infuriating man. “Must you speak like my lawyer even now, Jaggers? When will you believe I am ready? Ten years? Twenty?”

He shook his head, half-smiling. “No. Say one year. One year to get fully on your feet again.”

“Then…?”

“Then we will see.” When she gave no reply but mutinous silence, he went on, “Please, if you take only one word of advice from me in your life, take this.”

She was furious with him, but beneath that she felt a curious sense of relief. She loved him, she knew she did, but his words had touched on her own doubts. She had rushed headlong into one love affair, and it had almost broken her. Her heart was still fragile. There was no rush. She could take her time, and trust that Jaggers would be waiting for her when she was ready.

She drew herself up, lifted her chin. “Very well, Mr. Jaggers, since I see you will not be moved, I accept your terms.”

-

Time, she often thought, was such a strange thing. When she had shut herself away from the world, brooding on her own misery, the days had worn away, hope and happiness eroding away grain by grain. But a year in the world seemed to go by in a thought. Business meetings, negotiations, speculations: her new venture looked fair to thriving. It was a far more modest enterprise than the old Havisham brewery, but there was no reason why it couldn’t expand in the future. She hoped her father would look down on her and be proud.

She had still heard no word of Arthur. Of all the regrets in her life, this was the one which caused her the most sadness, but she was determined she would never give up hope of seeing him again.

She had written to Honoria at last, and they had exchanged several letters. Honoria’s notes were odd, desultory things, and she complained of being “bored to death” at Chesney Wold. But in her latest one she had at least hinted that Amelia would be welcome to call on her the next time the Dedlocks came up to London. Amelia missed her terribly, but she knew better than anyone what a broken heart could do to a person. Maybe Honoria, like herself, just needed time.

For a whole year, Jaggers had maintained a careful distance. She still saw him often, of course, but always at the office. By common consent, he no longer came to the house of an evening, and if he had some communication to make to her at home, it was usually done through his new clerk, Mr. Wemmick.

Today, however, was different.

“Punctual as ever, Jaggers,” she greeted him, sweeping into the drawing room into which he had been shown.

“Punctual as ever,” he agreed.

“You find me in something of an uproar, I’m afraid. I’m hosting dinner for Matthew’s future in-laws tonight, and I am determined that everything will be perfect. The young lady’s father is a knight, and I mean to show him that my family is quite good enough for his. I’ve found,” she added, “I rather enjoy being the eccentric spinster of the family.”

“You carry it off in fine style,” said he.

She gave him an arch look. “A compliment, Mr. Jaggers?”

“A statement of fact.”

No, she thought, there was certainly no danger of being deceived by romantic declarations with this man!

“I have brought you this,” he said suddenly.

He handed her a card. It advertised Mr. Jaggers, attorney at law, established at an address in Little Britain.

“So it’s done? Jaggers and Tulkinghorn is no more?”

“No more,” he replied. “I have washed my hands of him at last.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said, smiling at him. “You deserve this, absolutely.” 

A silence fell between them now, all excuses for small talk exhausted. Now that the moment was upon her, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of apprehension.

“I believe,” she said, “we have a pressing matter to discuss, Jaggers.”

He inclined his head, folding his hands behind his back, more reserved now than she had ever known him.

“My legal advisor once counselled me not to commit myself to anything until I was certain I was ready.”

“Your legal advisor is a wise man,” he said drily.

“He has his moments.” She closed the space between them, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body against her own. Her heart was beating so hard he must surely feel it, but otherwise she was quite composed as she looked up into his face. “So I must tell you that my feelings haven’t changed. If anything, they have only grown. I am ready, I do commit myself.”

This time, when she kissed him, he did not pull away, did not counsel caution. This time, he held her to him, kissing her as though he had waited all his life to do so. She met him wholeheartedly, clasping him in her arms, pressing herself into the warmth of his waistcoat. Even when they broke apart, quite breathless, they remained together, his brow pressed to hers, his arms encircling her waist, her hands at his shoulders.

How long they stayed like that, simply breathing each other in, she would never know. All she knew was that she was safe, she was happy. And above all, she knew that her heart was mended at last.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they lived happily ever after. _Great Expectations_? Never heard of it!


End file.
